


i took your soul right into the night

by Jebug26



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: F/M, somebody made a spotify playlist about them and this is the result
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 09:26:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16951410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jebug26/pseuds/Jebug26
Summary: Hiya!So @buisnesspartners on tumblr received an ask about how vm would dance to James Blunt's Goodbye My Lover on the eve of Scott's wedding....and it (along with her spotify playlist) is directly responsible for this pain fest.Sorry about any mistakes (and if you see any hit me up), I am in the middle of exams right now and I definitely should've been studying but I did this instead with literally my last 6 or 7 brain cells so...enjoy? or cry? it's up to you!





	i took your soul right into the night

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya! 
> 
> So @buisnesspartners on tumblr received an ask about how vm would dance to James Blunt's Goodbye My Lover on the eve of Scott's wedding....and it (along with her spotify playlist) is directly responsible for this pain fest. 
> 
> Sorry about any mistakes (and if you see any hit me up), I am in the middle of exams right now and I definitely should've been studying but I did this instead with literally my last 6 or 7 brain cells so...enjoy? or cry? it's up to you!

She was curled up on her sofa, mindlessly watching reruns of Love It or List It Vancouver when her bell chimes at 12:32 am.

She was wrapped up in a ratty Old Navy hoodie, glasses on and bra off when she opened her door.

She was numbing her mind with cheap wine from Zehrs when hazel met green.

She was trying (failing) to forget his name when he showed up on her doorstep the eve of his wedding.

She was trying to remember to breathe when he spoke.

A timid yet saturated “Hey” was all that he had to offer.

And her body, betraying her mind and climbing over those carefully set walls, reached for him before all the alarms could go off.

She barely remembers him kicking the door closed.

She barely remembers his sigh, his whisper into her hair, the barely audible “finally” that escapes not only his lips but his heart.

But, she comes back to the ground with the liquor oozing out of his pores and the way that his eyes focus in and out while looking at her.

(And while Tessa sobered up the second that she locked eyes with him, Scott only seemed to become more intoxicated; as if Tessa was his drug and he had just gotten his latest fix.)

Her name slipped through his lips, loosely and openly in the safety of her hallway.

“Tess”.

He always made her name sound like a prayer, like he was on his knees at Sunday mass - letting the lord in on their secrets.

She couldn’t resist him, she’d never been able to.

And despite how much she had fought her heart, how much she squashed it into the pit of her stomach the last few months-

She was just as addicted to him as he was to her.

They found themselves at her kitchen table, hands itching to be closer as the ice started to melt away.

Here they began humming and perhaps daydreaming about all the “what if’s”. Somehow starting with how they would’ve met at 13 and 15; both following their original competitive loves.

The seemingly innocent reminiscence had turned rather quickly into what song they would have danced to at her prom.

The song debate had turned into what they would have drunkenly moved to at his college graduation party.

With her vetoing of all of his cheesy country suggestions, he then whispered what their first dance would have been at _their_ wedding.

This is how they end up slow dancing in her kitchen at 1:02 in the morning.

Where Tessa let her armour rust away.

Where they both desperately clung onto a future that would never be.

His voice, thick with emotion and laced with the remaining whiskey, rasps in her ear that “It should be you, Tess. It’s always bee-”

She pushes him away then, all that gentle yet dangerous teasing gone, his words scorching her right down to her core.

“Scott.”

It’s both a plea and a warning.

“No T…baby please just, just please listen to me”.

Tessa yanks her hand again, he doesn’t let go though. It is a gentle yet firm hold keeping her (him) there.

She has to turn her head, she can’t see him cry anymore. She can’t listen to him cry either, but he refuses to let go of her hand. They both knew the history book too well that this was the part of the story she would run and never look back if he did.

“Tess”. She can feel and hear him slipping, slowly unravelling behind her.

Because of her.

She did this.

She pushed him away.

She made him leave that night in Japan.

She’s the one that threw the towel in.

She led him to the bar.

She led him to his parents, licking his wounds.

She led him to Cara, to Florida, to _her_.

She led him to the aisle and now she had to pay for her sins.

She’s not sure how long she had been staring at her mismatched socks but at some point Scott’s starting to hyperventilate behind her, his breathing becoming as eradicate as her heart. Tessa was just starting to turn when she feels him let go and lean towards the floor.

And like he has done almost every single day for the last 20 years, she catches him just before he hits the tiles.

This is where they are two hours later.

This is where they pull out the needle and thread, and begin sewing their hearts back together.

This is where they hold one another so close, that Tessa can feel him slowly breathing against the inside of her (his) old sweater.

This is where they were when another knock on her door at 3:17 in the morning comes, where all those swept up and restacked cards shattered to the ground again.

It’s Danny’s “Scott?” that allows the air to excel out of her lungs again.

It’s Danny’s “Bud...you can’t be here” that make them heave.

It’s Scott’s “Shit”, while finally snapping out of their bubble and looking at the 3:20 on her stove, that makes her sob.

It’s her grief, and guilt, and sheer love for him that forces her body away from him once more - but this time, he doesn’t fight.

It’s Danny in the peer hole of her door that makes Tessa want to jump out the window.

It’s his small, yet devastated smile that makes her head hit the frame.

It’s his coxing “come on T, I got him” that forces her hand to the handle.

She doesn’t remember what happened after that.

What she does remember is how the breeze tickled her nose at 3:23.

She remembers the few remaining leaves scattering down her street at 3:24.

She remembers how the shadow from her neighbour’s car mixed with her brush to look like some kind of animal at 3:25.

She remembers Tammy from 7 houses down coming home from her night shift, pulling her blue elantra into her driveway and sneaking into her house at 3:26.

She remembers the flicking lamp-post and the clicking of the oak grandfather - syncing in time to the tune of her pounding heart.

What she doesn’t remember that night is:

How Danny held her head in his hands, whispering that he loved her and that this was the **right** thing to do.

How Scott cried out like a boy, begging his older brother to leave him.

How Danny had to tell him again that he couldn’t be here.

How Scott brokenly whispered at her back that he loved _her_.

That he couldn't and wouldn’t marry her.

That he had fucked up and ruined everything.

That it should be Tessa in the dress.

That it was always Tessa in that dress.

She certainly doesn’t remember how Danny had to drag him to his feet and support him out of the kitchen.

She certainly doesn’t remember how Scott reached for her as his brother navigated him out the door.

She certainly doesn’t remember his “baby don’t let me do this” as Danny picked his now crumpled body off the grass and loaded him up to one of the rented wedding vehicles for tomorrow’s celebrations.

No, she doesn’t remember the way Scott screamed into his hands as they pulled away.

But -

Does she ever remember the way the porcelain of the toilet bowl felt under her fingers and how her fingers shook as she held her body on the floor.

This time there was nobody to put her back together.

This time, he ripped those newly sown stitches and left her heart bleeding out all over the bathroom floor.

This time, he was gone.

This time she was hollow.


End file.
